


Winter into Spring

by allvilelysunk



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Childbirth, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Gen, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allvilelysunk/pseuds/allvilelysunk
Summary: Crown Princess Izumi and Fire Lord Zuko lose one Iroh and gain another.
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh II & Izumi (Avatar), Izumi & Katara (Avatar), Izumi & Mai (Avatar), Izumi & Zuko (Avatar), Izumi (Avatar)/Original Character, Katara & Mai (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 200





	1. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her great-uncle in the throes of illness and her first child on the way, Izumi has never been more afraid in her life. Zuko does what little he can to offer comfort.

Zuko was surprised to find his daughter sitting in the courtyard at this early hour, greeting Agni the way she used to before pregnancy rendered her endlessly fatigued. His footfalls were careful in the hope of leaving her meditation undisturbed, but when he came close enough, she turned her head and fixed tired eyes on her father.

“Good morning, Father.”

Caught, Zuko grimaced. “Sorry.”

Izumi shook her head. “Nothing to be sorry for. I think my hearing’s just sharper than it used to be.”

“That happened to your mother, too.” He smirked crookedly at the memory. He could hardly get anything past Mai as it was, but during her pregnancy, Mai’s senses were almost preternaturally keen.

Izumi raised her eyebrows and gave a sardonic expression. “I’m grateful one good thing is coming out of this.” She blinked, then frowned remorsefully. “Well, I suppose there’s technically two good things coming out of this.” Finally, she sighed as if defeated. “Sit with me, Dad.”

Zuko did as she asked without hesitation, sinking down beside her and folding his legs beneath him in a meditative position. As always, he had to mentally adjust to the sight of her like this—it didn’t feel very long ago at all that she was a baby herself, and now she was having one of her own—but he had become relatively well practiced in the art of obscuring his ongoing shock. Nevertheless, he remained a bit dumbfounded; he could swear she hadn’t been quite this round yesterday.

“You’re up early,” Zuko remarked.

“I couldn’t sleep. The baby kept me up all night.” Absentmindedly, she rested both of her hands on the swell of her belly. “I don’t think I can do this for another month. It’s killing me. I can’t sleep, I’m always uncomfortable, I can hardly breathe half the time, I can’t go fifteen minutes without needing the restroom… and I’m just so angry at Hanzei all the time.” She lowered her head in shame. “And I’m angry at myself, too.”

Izumi’s circumstances were unique, Zuko knew. She and Hanzei had been together for four years, but this pregnancy was _not_ planned. Princess Izumi had come very close to terminating it altogether before she decided that she wanted this after all, intended or not, and she and Hanzei had married shortly thereafter to minimize the scandal that would have followed them for having a bastard. This was in stark contrast to Zuko and Mai’s experience; not only had Izumi been enthusiastically planned, but the Fire Lord and Lady had been married for seven years when their daughter was at long last conceived (and a collective sigh of relief rippled across the Fire Nation, because Fire Lord Zuko _finally_ had an heir who wasn’t an elderly tea shop owner or a psychologically unstable princess). Furthermore, Izumi was only nineteen—not an unusual age for a Fire Nation royal to be having a child, but Zuko and Mai had been thirty one and thirty, respectively, when they brought the crown princess into the world.

To make matters more tumultuous, Uncle Iroh was on his deathbed. Like her father, Izumi had been raised on Iroh’s knee, his tea and proverbs a reliable comfort in her life. In all but name, Iroh was Izumi’s grandfather. The threat of losing his guiding hand on the cusp of the most monumental moment in her journey was almost too much for Izumi to bear.

Truth be told, it was almost too much for Zuko to bear, too. How would he do this, _any_ of this, without Uncle? How would he rule the Fire Nation fairly and honorably? How would he be a good father? How would he be a good _grandfather_? Zuko dreaded to imagine where he’d be now without his uncle—still searching in vain for the Avatar, perhaps, or maybe just as shattered as Azula had once been. Maybe even dead.

Zuko felt so selfish. He’d had fifty wonderful years with Iroh, far more than most people could dream of having with a beloved older relative. (More than ever, Zuko was thankful for the hereditary longevity of the royal bloodline.) Izumi had only nineteen, and her child might have none.

“…I wish there was something I could do, Izumi,” said Zuko sincerely. He inwardly cursed his way with words, or lack thereof.

“I’m just complaining to complain,” Izumi replied dismissively. She lifted her head, bathing her face in the burnt oranges and pinks of Agni’s beams. “I know there’s nothing you can do.”

Zuko mimicked her actions, and they sat together in silence for a while. They breathed slowly and evenly, in perfect unison with one another. In time, Zuko peered over at his daughter and was crestfallen to see ribbons of tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Izumi?” His voice escaped him soft and raspy as ever.

She opened her eyes and a blush rose in her cheeks. “Shit,” she cursed, lifting a hand from her stomach to roughly rub the tears from her face. “Father, I’m… I’m fine. It’s just the hormones.”

“No, it’s not.”

Izumi growled tepidly. “When did you start getting so observant?”

“I don’t know,” responded Zuko with a scarce shrug. He might as well indulge her in the obvious joke while she was feeling this way. “I think it started around when you were born.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.” Izumi released a shaky laugh, her voice thick with tears. “You must’ve really been hopeless before I was born.”

“Your mother or your aunts could tell you all about how hopeless I was.”

“Believe me. They have.”

Izumi decided that she could hold it in no longer, and she reached out to grip her father’s arm with desperate eyes. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered with a quivering lip. Saying so at last split the dam, wracking her whole body with trembles and covering her cheeks in freshly shed tears.

Zuko sat up on his knees and gathered his daughter tight in his arms. Every time Izumi cried, he never failed to do the same—particularly now, when stars of their fears aligned so absolutely. Zuko kissed the crook of her jaw several times and shared openly in her grief.

“I know,” Zuko murmured. “I know, I know. I’m afraid, too.” With a great shudder, he sniffled and sighed deeply. “But you’re going to be okay. You’re so strong, Izumi. You’re stronger than I’ve ever been. I’m not afraid for you.”

“ _I’m_ afraid for me,” came Izumi’s muffled reply. By now, she’d buried her face into her father’s shoulder as she wept. “Dad, what if I made a mistake? I don’t feel ready for any of this. I’m not ready to… I’m not ready to be a mother.” She tried to stifle a wail, but she failed tragically and it came out stilted and broken. “I still feel like a child.”

“Izumi, you’ll never feel ready. I still don’t.” Lovingly, he nuzzled what little was exposed of her cheek. “But you have me, and you have Hanzei, and you have your mother and all your aunts and uncles. You’ll never be alone in this. You _are_ ready, even if you don’t feel like you are. You were ready the moment you decided that you already loved the baby too much to let it go.”

“But—but Uncle Iroh—”

Iroh’s name alone barreled through Zuko like a train, and he had to ground himself with multiple deep, sustained breaths before he continued.

“I… We owe it to him to let him go, Izumi. He’s lived a long time, and he needs his rest.” It tore his heart in half to say something so seemingly defeatist, but he knew it was a truth that he and his daughter both ought to hear. Iroh had lived a significant portion of his life almost entirely in the service of others. He had earned his eternal repose, no matter how ardently those of them still on Earth felt that they needed him. “Like me, he has every confidence in you. He knows you won’t need his guidance to be a good mother.”

Neither of them said anything more for a time, long enough for the vibrant colors of the sunrise to retreat from the heavens entirely. They simply wept the rest of their tears together, hugging all the while.

Finally, Izumi was the first to draw back. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and Zuko imagined that his looked about the same.

“Hanzei and I were thinking about names,” she began.

“Aren’t you supposed to wait until after the baby’s born to tell me about this?” Zuko asked. He remembered the Fire Sages being immovably adamant about that particular detail. He and Mai could discuss names in private, but to do so among others was bad luck, allegedly.

Izumi rolled her eyes. “That’s all a bunch of superstitious nonsense.”

“That’s what we said, but the Sages never let up on us about it.”

Izumi laughed genuinely at her father’s bitterness. “I appreciate them, I really do, but it’s none of their business if I choose to talk about names with my baby’s _grandfather_.”

With the mood lifted, Zuko laughed, too. “Don’t call me that. It makes me feel so old.”

“What do you expect the baby to call you, then?”

“Uh. I guess I hadn’t really thought about that.”

Izumi playfully smacked Zuko’s shoulder. “You’re such an idiot,” she admonished drily.

“See? You’re going to be a great mother. You already sound like yours.”

“You’re not even letting me finish.” Izumi scoffed, unable to conceal her warm grin. “Hanzei and I had been considering Kazan for a boy and Mizuki for a girl, but…” She worried her lip. “Well, in case they never get to meet Uncle, I think I want to name the baby after him.”

Awe and bittersweet sadness overwhelmed Zuko in a wave. “But… I thought you said you wanted to avoid family names.”

“I did, but I want to do something to bind them together.” She took both of her father’s hands in hers. “I’m so heartbroken that they might never know each other. I know that naming the baby after him is no replacement for knowing him, but it’s something I feel I need to do. Uncle’s name should live on through my child.”

Paralyzed by the onslaught of his emotions, Zuko could do little but squeeze his daughter’s hands in return. Eventually, he rose up from the stone ground, and he offered Izumi his arm to help her up.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Nonetheless, she took him by the forearm and he hoisted her to her feet.

“What do you mean? We have to go tell him now.”

A single tear escaped the outer corner of her eye, but she smiled like the sun.


	2. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grieving Izumi faces the greatest challenge of her life. Zuko contends with the loss of his uncle and the arrival of his grandson.

Like ships passing in the night, one life ended and another began.

As the Fire Sages carefully lifted her great-uncle’s shrouded body from his deathbed, one could have mistaken Princess Izumi’s suddenly scrunched up face, her clenched fists, and the low keening in the back of her throat for a fresh wave of grief. Her father had eyes only for the deep indent on the mattress upon which Iroh laid for the past three months, his features blank and his cheeks dampened by silently shed tears. He was in no state to notice his daughter. Nor was her mother, for that matter, who draped her arms about the Fire Lord and wept quietly herself. Izumi’s aunts sat together at the opposite end of the room, gripping despondently at one another. Kiyi sobbed openly, but Azula simply trembled, her expression twisted into a raw combination of fear and anger that Izumi had never before seen overtake her.

Izumi would never blame any of them for failing to notice. _She_ had hardly noticed, seized so completely as she was by her own sorrow. But Hanzei did notice.

“Izumi?” Her husband’s soothing baritone ripped her from the haze of melancholy. She felt him touch her arm gently. “Are you okay?”

She shot him an incredulous glare. “What kind of question is that?” she demanded in a pitifully wobbling voice. “Of course I’m not okay.”

“No, I mean—” His hand grasped hers, while the other rose to her cheek. “You look pale. And… you sounded like you were in pain.”

Only then did she acknowledge the last of the pulsating pain leaving her abdomen and the strangely numb sensation that took its place. Feeling faint, she clutched at Hanzei’s forearm. “…I think I should sit down,” she yielded.

Hanzei nodded slowly. With a hand braced on the small of her back, he led her to a chaise and supported her weight while they sat down beside one another. His eyes never left hers. “You don’t think it’s…,” he suggested with some hesitation. Tentatively, he rested his palm upon the supremely large swell of her belly.

A soft, croaking laugh escaped her. “If it is, Agni has a cruel sense of humor.” She leaned forward as much as she was able and nuzzled her husband’s face with her own. She sniffled. “If it happens again, go fetch Aunt Katara for me. But for now, keep this between us. Let my family grieve in peace for a little while.” She dutifully stifled the next desperate words on her tongue: _Please, please, have mercy on me. It can’t be today._

* * *

An hour later, Aunt Katara was fetched.

Apart from Katara and Hanzei, no one in the palace was yet subject to the knowledge that the crown princess had indeed gone into labor. As she lay in her own bed, her silken robe unfastened while Katara bent glowing water across her belly, Izumi wondered ruefully if she could somehow give birth without anyone else finding out until after the deed was done. Her father was inconsolable, and her mother had her hands full with comforting both him _and_ herself. Izumi dreaded with all her heart to disturb them with this when their emotions were already so fragile.

She expressed these fears to Katara, who offered her brand of sage wisdom in turn.

“Izumi,” she said. Her hand stilled, and she tucked strands of Izumi’s sable hair behind her ear with maternal affection. “I’m heartbroken about Iroh, but I’m overjoyed about this. Your parents will be, too. Let them be here for you. You’ll need all the support you can get.” Katara smiled, then leaned forward and pecked Izumi’s forehead. “You’re not a burden, sweetheart. You’re a blessing, and so is this little one.”

Rivulets of tears spilled from Izumi’s eyes. “Why n-now?” she lamented. “Why today? I’m not strong enough.”

Katara bent her water back into her oilskin bag. Her arms wrapped around Izumi. “Yes, you are. You have so much more power than you realize. And when it’s all over, you’ll find that every second of strife was worth the reward.”

Another spasm of pain rolled through her as if on cue, longer and markedly more fearsome than the last. Izumi latched onto Katara fiercely as it overwhelmed her. This time, it was too much to bite back and smother with a growl or a moan; unbidden, Izumi’s scream split the air, and she knew she could no longer hide.

* * *

In no time at all, the rest of the palace knew that the arrival of a new prince or princess was imminent. Funeral and birth preparations bled into one another dizzyingly. Like they had merely hours ago wandered in and out of Uncle Iroh’s bedchambers before he breathed his last, family and friends now migrated in and out of the infirmary to see Izumi before her water broke and the bitter, unforgiving work of active labor began.

In hindsight, Izumi could only clearly recall her time with her parents.

Fire Lady Mai burst through the doors first and sprinted toward her daughter’s bed with an uncharacteristic urgency. Hanzei narrowly leapt out of Mai’s warpath lest he be barreled over in his mother-in-law’s haste. Fire Lord Zuko emerged through the threshold moments later, his long hair windswept and his eyes tired and agitated. He exchanged a brief but meaningful look with Hanzei, laden with empathy from one father to another for the crippling feelings of uselessness in Hanzei’s imminent future.

“ _Izumi_ ,” Mai crooned raspily, holding her daughter with gentle ferocity. “Oh, my baby. My sweet girl.”

A sob clawed its way up Izumi’s throat, ferrying her grief, her pain, and her anticipation all at once. “Mother,” she whispered. “Oh, Mother. Mother.”

Mai held her daughter’s arms as if the vice grip of her long, pale fingers could absorb every ounce of Izumi’s suffering. She drew back enough to kiss Izumi’s cheek, and her lips lingered there as she spoke again. “I love you. I love you so much.” Her lips retreated, and she leveled an adoring, compassionate look at Izumi. “I know you’re afraid. So was I. But you’ll be alright. I’ll be right here with you for as long as Katara and the midwives let me stay.”

Izumi’s lower lip quivered, but her small smile was every inch genuine. “I won’t let them kick you out, Mom. I need you here.”

A breathy giggle like tinkling bells alerted them to Katara’s presence. “I’m not going to kick your mother out, sweetie,” she reassured the princess. Katara glided with confidence toward the opposite side of the bed. “ _This_ one, on the other hand…” She indicated Zuko with a tilt of her head.

Zuko blinked himself out of his daze, then frowned severely. “You let me stay for Mai,” he protested.

“Yes, because it was your baby she was giving birth to.” Katara sighed. “I wish I could let you stay, Zuko, but this is women’s business. Hanzei is the only boy allowed. Otherwise, the room will be too crowded, and your daughter is going to need space to move around.”

Zuko’s face smoothed over when he recognized the logic in Katara’s words, but his head nonetheless hung ever so slightly. “I guess you’re right,” he capitulated somewhat sullenly.

With some visible reluctance, Mai stepped back from Izumi and trained a glance at her husband. “I’ll let you have her for now—until you have to leave.” 

Zuko rushed past Mai and Hanzei (who now stood side by side, their arms draped across each other’s backs supportively) and to Izumi without a second thought. He, too, gathered her into an embrace, and his tears glistened against his cheeks.

“Father, I’m so sorry,” came Izumi’s forlorn murmur.

“ _Sorry?_ ” Zuko parroted disbelievingly into her hair. “Izumi, what are you sorry for?”

“I can’t imagine a worse time for this. It’s not right.” She buried her face into her father’s shoulder. “We didn’t even have time to mourn Uncle the way he deserves. And now my baby’s going to be born to a grieving mother.”

Zuko’s heart ached with the weeping wound of Uncle’s passing, this time from a sore need for one of his evergreen proverbs. He smartly decided not to do Iroh the disservice of coming up with a clumsy, half-baked proverb of his own.

“I can’t even describe…,” he started, then paused briefly to organize his words. “I can’t describe the way I felt when you were born. No amount of grief could have overshadowed my happiness. Uncle could have died that day and it wouldn’t have diminished any of my love for you.” Cupping Izumi’s jaw in his palm, Zuko bravely met her stare. “And if you struggle with your conflicting feelings, you won’t be alone. I know I’ll be right there with you.”

Izumi tilted her head into her father’s hand. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’m so proud of you.” He brushed the pad of his thumb beneath her eye to wipe away her tears. “You’re in good hands. Katara’s delivered more babies than anyone I know. I think she could do it with her eyes shut.” He glared sidelong at Katara. “That’s not a suggestion, though.”

Katara rolled her eyes. To his surprise, Zuko mustered a faint chuckle in turn.

His soul rose just a little from the shadowy depths of mourning when his gaze returned to his daughter and her lovely smile graced him.

“Leave it to you to make bad jokes at a time like th—,” began Mai’s quip, but Izumi’s smile dropped suddenly and her features screwed up in pain, aborting the remainder of it.

Izumi gasped sharply. Baring her teeth, she hissed and squeezed her eyes closed as the lengthy contraction wracked her body. With a white-knuckled grip, she clawed desperately at the sheets beneath her. Zuko immediately released her from his embrace—he could remember quite vividly just how little Mai appreciated physical contact during her own contractions—and stared at her helplessly.

Katara grimaced. She bent her water into her hand and guided it once more across Izumi’s lower abdomen, doing what little she could to ease the rippling agony. “Alright,” she said resignedly. “Everyone, clear out for now. I’m going to try to break her water.”

* * *

“How’s it going there, Grandpa?”

Zuko lifted his head from his hands enough to meet Aang’s concerned gaze. His daughter had been laboring for almost eight hours, and each minute felt like an eternity yawning out in front of him.

“I’m just _great_ , Aang,” sniped Zuko curtly. A moment later, he recognized his needless hostility and his shoulders sank. “Sorry.”

Like water off a turtleduck’s back, Aang let Zuko’s attitude wash harmlessly over him and offered his friend a sympathetic smile. “This seat taken?” he asked, gesturing toward the bench on which Zuko sat alone. Zuko shook his head and shifted to the side, and Aang lowered himself beside him.

“I always thought Katara and I would be the first ones in the group to become grandparents,” Aang mused. “I’m still shocked it’s you and Mai. Izumi struck me as the one who’d have kids last.”

Zuko smirked scarcely. “I’m still kind of shocked, too.” A muffled, bloodcurdling cry rang out beyond the door that stood before them, and Zuko’s smirk fell in an instant. “Don’t tell her I told you this, but she didn’t plan it.”

Aang raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You thought I didn’t know that?”

Zuko gaped. “Wait, who told you?”

“Zuko, it’s only been six months since she and Hanzei got married. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.” Aang snorted softly and laid a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Katara told me. She knew I wouldn’t think any less of Izumi for that. I mean, look at Toph.”

With a huff, Zuko again rested his weary head in his hands.

“I know it’s not the same,” Aang amended, “but I miss him, too.”

Zuko’s brow furrowed. That was the reason Aang and his children were here in the palace, after all; they’d come to say their own goodbyes to the man who had become an honorary uncle to them all. Katara would have remained in the Fire Nation to attend to the rapidly approaching birth of Izumi’s child, but with Izumi’s due date many days away, the rest of Katara’s family had been prepared to return to Republic City. The uncanny timing of the universe now prompted them to extend their stay.

He frowned solemnly. “It is the same, Aang. He changed all of our lives.”

“He was your father in every way that counts. It’s not the same,” Aang insisted. “But I do know what it’s like. When I was a kid, I felt lost without Gyatso there to guide me. Sometimes I still do. But I’ve realized that in what little time I had with him, he gave me everything I needed. I only had to look back for the answers.

“You’re scared. You’re on the precipice of a new beginning without Iroh here to ground you. I’d be scared, too.” Aang squeezed Zuko’s shoulder. “Just remember that he gave you all the tools you need.”

After so many hours, Zuko had believed that he was finally wrung dry of tears to shed, but the tender consolation of his best friend proved him wrong.

* * *

The pain scorched like a fire within her womb, and soon Izumi became delirious with it. Her hand held Hanzei’s so tightly that she distantly heard him grunt more than once in strain, but with what little cognizance she could manage, she decided that it was the least he should endure in light of the torment that gripped her. The encouragement of Mai, Katara, and the midwives lingered somewhere above her, unreachable. Even her grief had abated, though she knew it was just a matter of time before it would mercilessly seize her again in the aftermath.

The scarce thoughts she had were of both Irohs: the one lost to her, and the one she would soon gain with yet more time and effort. She had come to terms with the notion that her child might never know her great-uncle many months ago, but she nevertheless pitied her baby for the loss of a great man it would never know like she did. Izumi had resolved to name her child for him in an act of compensation, Iroh for a boy or Ilah for a girl, and her conviction to do so was unwavering in the wake of Uncle’s passing. His death even further solidified the decision; indeed, it must be a good omen from Agni that Iroh the elder would slip away on the very same day that Iroh the younger came into being. Like a phoenix, Iroh was reborn in the inferno of her agony.

Izumi would appreciate the poetry of it later, _much_ later. For now, she knew only anguish—then, suddenly, the unfathomable bliss of release, and the shrill cry of a newborn.

Hanzei’s voice permeated through the ringing in her ears. “Izumi, it’s over,” he exalted. “We have a son.” An incredulous bark of a laugh escaped him. “We have a son!” In a frenzy, he kissed her knuckles, then her cheek, then the corner of her lips while she heaved in relief.

Before she could assemble a response, a weight came to rest on her now bare chest, and the sight of a squirming, pink-skinned baby greeted her.

A giggle bubbled in Izumi’s throat. Her fingers rested gingerly across the nape of her son’s neck. “Iroh,” she breathed. Her wet eyes shimmered. “My baby.”

In time, the unpleasant business of afterbirth was taken care of and others could at long last see Izumi and welcome the little prince into the world. And naturally, the Fire Lord—followed closely at the heels by Hanzei’s parents, the Fire Nation’s esteemed ministers of finance and international affairs—was the first to barge into the infirmary with much dramatics.

“Izumi!” shouted Zuko frantically. He grimaced, remembering too late to mind the delicate ears of a particular newborn baby, and lowered his voice significantly as he approached. “Are you alright?”

Fortunately, the baby had left his recovering daughter’s arms when Zuko enfolded her in a thoughtless embrace. Izumi laughed and returned his hug, her exhaustion temporarily forgotten.

“Dad, I’m alright,” she reassured him. “Well, alright as I can be.”

He pulled back, briefly examined Izumi’s features, and sighed in reprieve. “You are,” he agreed.

“You’ve looked at me enough,” Izumi jested. “Why don’t you look at your grandson for a change? Mother has him.”

Mai glanced away from the hushed conversation taking place between Hanzei and his jubilant parents, fixing piercing golden eyes on her husband. A small, bundled form was nestled in her practiced arms, and her smile was the most radiant Zuko had seen it in some time. “He looks like you, Zuko,” she teased warmly.

“Like _me_?” He gave an exaggerated shudder, then extended his arms toward his wife. “Here, let me offer him my condolences.”

With great care, Mai relinquished the baby into Zuko’s arms. Shifting the baby to better support his head, Zuko gazed with admiration and a lovingly softened expression upon his grandson, whose already open eyes shone the brilliant golden of his family.

“Hi, Iroh,” Zuko whispered. His throat constricted slightly, but even though the name twisted his heart unpleasantly with the grief he would spend the rest of his life nursing, he could do nothing but smile. “No, you don’t look like me at all. You’re too cute.”

“Oh, please,” drawled Mai. “You’re cute.”

Zuko scowled at her. “Am not.”

Izumi groaned hoarsely. “ _Enough._ Haven’t I suffered enough today?”

Relenting, Zuko maneuvered to sit beside Izumi in the bed. He lowered Iroh enough for Izumi to set adoring eyes upon him. “I think he looks more like you than me, Fire Lily,” Zuko murmured. “He’s lucky to have you as his mother.”

Izumi reached out and stroked gentle fingers across the top of Iroh’s head. “I’m lucky to have him as my son,” she uttered, ensorcelled by him all over again.

Zuko leaned in close and kissed Izumi’s temple. “He would be proud of you.”

Of course, there was no need to clarify who _he_ was. A sigh passed Izumi’s parted lips, and she regarded her father with boundless love and boundless sadness. “He’d be proud of you, too.”


End file.
